I really didn't want this day to start. I always struggle getting back into the swing of routine life. I pine for the lazy days of just being. Well, I obviously didn't get my wish. Up before the sun, I was. And life went on as usual.
I did have one thing going for me today. The sun was with me all day long. I can get through just about anything with her shining down on me. My house glowed from the snow's reflection. I didn't need the lights on, which I usually do all winter long to keep things BRIGHT.
I watched my kids today with impressions of their growing up weighing on me. What will life be like when I can no longer persuade my boys to do things with a kiss or a hug? I don't want their hearts to harden as they grow.
I have no idea what I'll do if they fight, wrestle, carry on like they do now, when they're teenagers. Black eyes? Bloody noses? Yikes. I'm thinking about this because Lincoln and Brigham FELL into the house today, rolling across the rug and onto the wood floor. Totally fighting and totally in snow clothes. I was grateful for the extra padding. However, I couldn't believe I actually saw Brigham punch Lincoln in the face whilst rolling! Holy cow, I thought. Are they for real? Kidding or angry? Now, don't get me wrong. We're a family of three very boyish boys. Very hardy, very masculine, very aggressive if need be. But I've never seen my boys hit like that! They usually pin each other down, punch in the arm, Lincoln still bites if he has to. But in the face?! No way. My mind wrestles (pun intended) with this identity crisis: are we an old fashioned, farm-living family with boys who have a good fight and are best friends afterwards, patting each other on the back as they congratulate the victor, or a family with anger-management issues, like city-boys who fight and end up killing each other for real, followed by an hour-long 20/20 special? I pick the first.
Oh, these boys. These sweet, aggressive fighters. What's a mom to do? Maybe I'll join them next time. We'll see who wins. That'll teach 'em. Hah.